


a sky full of hummingbirds

by EtuBrutus



Category: Cemetery Boys - Aiden Thomas
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wings, Gen, M/M, Tags will be updated, Wing AU, Wingfic, Wings, also the brujx are witches, and ya'll are along for the ride, as always I put my own spin on the characters, big surprise there, but he has the right to be, don't worry you'll love this, everyone has wings, the train gang tm, which means I do what I WANT, yadriel is an angry boi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtuBrutus/pseuds/EtuBrutus
Summary: Yadriel's wings - brown, then orange, then tawn, like a turtledove’s - aren’t too dark, but they still fold birdlike against his back, sharp edged. When they’re folded, they do not look like Diego’s, or Dad’s, or any of the brujos. The colours might be similar, like eyes within a family are similar, but the resemblance ends there.or, the obligatory wing!fic.
Relationships: Julian Diaz/Yadriel Vélez Flores, Maritza Selena Escabas Santima & Yadriel Vélez Flores
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. wrap you name tight around my ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m - going to fly for a while. Here’s, uh, your pendant. I’ll pick it up once I’m done?”
> 
> Julian looks at him oddly, “You can just wear it.”
> 
> Yadriel looks back at him, slightly stunned.

Yadriel’s a good flier. Maritza insists that ‘good’ doesn’t cover it, but she doesn’t really understand the feeling of flying for the speed, the feeling of air through feathers and the whistle of pressure while slicing through air.

He keeps his wings tucked in when on the ground, though. Doesn’t like flaunting them, like everyone else his age does. They’re not tall enough, too sleek, too long and sharp. On a girl, they would have been fine. And they’re good for flying, too, but he feels so close to the ground, shorter than most other guys, his wings spreading horizontally and not a corona of feathers at his shoulders and head.

He tries ignoring the occasional double take when people hear his name, eyes looking to his chest, then feathers, and back at him. His wings, brown, then orange, then tawn, like a turtledove’s, aren’t too dark, but they still fold birdlike against his back, sharp edged. When they’re folded, they do not look like Diego’s, or Dad’s, or any of the men’s. The colours might be similar, like eyes in a family are similar, but the tops of his feathered joints barely rise over his shoulders. 

They’re not weak, but they don’t add an extra foot of height, like other men have, and Yadriel’s left unable to take up as much space as they do.

  
  
  
  


He first comes out to his mother on the side of the road, as purrcaso’s blood pools around them. The cat’s mewling, in pain, but mom’s healed her, as effortlessly as stretching her wings, or flipping her hair. Purrcaso naps near mom’s lap.

He’s hugging his knees, wings mostly folded, but shifting with his body, so they’re hunched up near his ears. He wants to be  _ small.  _ He wants to hide, or fly up to the top of the house and huddle near the chimney, but mom’s hand rubs circles on his shoulder. It doesn’t exactly stop him from crying, but the hiccups and shaking lessen, at least.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?”

Everything, he wants to say. My wings, they’re too narrow and wide. Everyone thinks I’m a girl, and I’m shorter than Maritza, and all my clothes feel weird, and my hair is too long, and I feel like I don’t belong in my skin.

Instead, he just leans into mom, unable to control the crying. He feels a little embarrassed, Diego would make fun of him, maybe, but then mom pulls him close and unfurls her wings, wide and deep blue, and perfect for her. She fans them around and above them, until they’re in an alcove of feathers, light filtering swimming-pool blue through her wings. 

She is warm, and familiar, and safe. He says, “I think I’m a boy.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to be small, because he trusts his mother, but he doesn’t like thinking about  _ himself  _ anyway, doesn’t really want to. He has to tell her, though. 

There is silence, for a few seconds. Then she holds his shoulders, steadily, pulls him away for a second. He opens his eyes, looking into hers, the same amber-brown as his. She says, “I believe you, m’ijo,” solidly, like a truth, undeniable, before wrapping him in a hug, wings enveloping his own. 

It’s the best memory he has, of his hold on his wings relaxing, feeling raw and tired but completely safe, wrapped in feathers he’s known all his life. They’d stayed there for a long while. An hour, maybe. 

  
  
  
  
  


His relatives like to joke that the brujx witches are more avian than regular people. Despite being able to commune with the dead and release spirits, Yadriel’s family were just… different. Stronger, in some cases. 

They’ve all got stronger wings than others, muscles developing enough to hold them steadily in flight. Of course, most brujos use their wings to intimidate, or at most, glide, though most of Yadriel’s cousins his age have a grasp on rough flight. 

There’s also the fact of their keen hearing. All noises around them, amplified. It’d taken Yadriel years of practice before he could walk in public places without getting a headache. It also meant that there was  _ barely any privacy  _ in the cemetery, but whatever, he was used to  _ that _ . The worst of it for him was at school, where he could hear everything anyone said about him, but had to pretend he didn’t.

It was lucky that their wings weren’t all some striking colour or size. From the outside, the brujx LA branch looked ordinary enough. Nothing that would call the cops attention, just a cozy latinx community huddled up near the cemetery. 

It was irritating to think of, given that they  _ protected everyone from  _ spirits at unrest, but the elders had raised them on the mantra, ‘gratitude is not our payment,’ so the brujx pride was barely slighted by their ignorance. 

Maritza and Yadriel had spent a lot of their childhood flying. Flying  _ was  _ a sport, though more like track or cross country, a measure of technique and skill. Brujx teens weren’t encouraged to join sports, since their enhanced strength put them at a suspicious advantage, and the brujx survived by being innocuous. 

But regardless, while their cousins were mimicking fights with sticks as portages and rope as rosaries, the two of them would climb up onto the church roof and launch themselves off, improving the ways they glide and launched and eventually, practicing altitude and diving precision. 

It was fun, because nobody else was doing it. Because barely anyone actually used their wings to  _ fly  _ and they’d felt special. 

Yadriel had gone less often after coming out. Even if there were a few people milling about, he’d feel discomfort, like they were staring at him, his wings and the shape of them, and his concentration would waver, and after he almost crashed during a landing, he and maritza stuck to hanging out on the church roof during early dawn or late dusk. 

He’s still great at flying, though. Catriz has seen him in action, was stunned the first time he and Maritza showed him one of their practice sequences. Yadriel launched off the roof, got to a height, dived down and pivoted diagonally on the chimney to launch himself higher, before pencil-diving to the ground. 

_You’re going to be a menace of a brujo,_ he’d said. 

Yadriel knew he would. He was counting on it. 

  
  
  
  
  


It’s not the first time he’s seen Julian Diaz, when his ghost appears from the necklace in Yadriel’s hand. They’re in Lady Death’s old cemetery, the two - no,  _ three  _ of them, now - and he recognises the boy immediately. 

It wasn’t anything specific. He just had a good memory.

Their first conversation goes along the lines of ‘wait-i’m-dead’ and, ‘yes-you’re-dead-now-let-me-release-your-soul’ then, ‘how-about-no-because-i’m-stubborn’ and Yadriel doesn’t  _ mean  _ to get annoyed, but it’s his sixteen birthday and his cousin is dead, so he isn’t too hard on himself for what happens next.

“If you’re going to be like this then you’re not giving me much choice, man.”

The boy’s spirit scoffs, and says, gesturing to himself, “What are you going to do, stab me?” Maritza, the traitor, muffles a laugh behind him. 

Julian’s body takes up enough space, incorporeal as it is, and Yadriel itches to spread his wings, to try and take up as much space as the guy. Which is ridiculous. Because Julian is a  _ spirit,  _ and doesn’t even  _ have  _ wings anymore. Yadriel stands up straighter, anyway.

“Muéstrame enlace!”   


When that fails spectacularly, and Julian is wheezing on the ground in laughter, Yadriel is bristling. He’s embarrassed, but more than that, he’s  _ terrified.  _ He did the ceremony. He’s supposed to be a brujo, now. Why didn’t it work? Maritza puts a hand on his shoulder, solid and comforting, but it doesn’t stop every single insecurity from bubbling up to the surface. 

He doesn’t let it show.  _ Won’t  _ let it show. Not in front of Julian Diaz, who’s making this entire thing more stressful than it needs to be. 

“Jesus, alright. Nobody’s found Miguel yet, which means everyone is still searching. Okay. Maritza, let’s…” he almost says,  _ go back and help,  _ but he doesn’t want to go back to the house at all. The heat of anger and shame and frustration hasn’t cooled yet, at dad being so  _ annoying  _ and stupid, saying  _ ‘stay with the rest of the women,’  _ like Yadriel hasn’t been fighting everyone to be taken seriously for his entire life. 

God, he wishes mamá were here. Tío Catriz was fine to talk to, but he kept a distance from everyone, including Yadriel. It didn’t sting, because it wasn’t about Yadriel, but it put his Tio in the same bracket as his father. Family, but not much else.

“Let’s go and look for Miguel ourselves. He’s got to be somewhere.”

Maritza looks alarmed, enough that her wings unfold slightly, dark browns and maroons sending up dust. “Hey, I don’t think we should be going out on our own.” She glances to Julian, who seems to be paying attention now. She continues, in a whisper that only the two of them can hear, “Sneaking out to do the quinces ceremony is one thing, Yads, but this is… freaky, you know?”

He does know, but he hates feeling useless. “We can do one round of the compound, it’s dark anyway.”

Maritza folds her arms, glancing away. Yadriel knows he’s being unreasonable, that his cousin isn’t on board his plan to ignore his lack of brujo ability by doing something reckless and rebellious. Since, you know, Julian Diaz is still  _ here.  _

Speaking of the guy, “Hey! What are you saying? I can’t hear you properly!”

“Because you’re dead,” Yadriel says, and immediately regrets his bluntness, spirits are usually sensitive and prone to weeping. “Wait, I mean -”

Julian waves his hand, unbothered, “Whatever, stop whispering and just… tell me. You need to, what, exorcise me?”

Yadriel rubs his forehead. “Yeah, sure.” It’s sarcastic, but it’d be  _ nice,  _ you know, confirming that he wasn’t a failure of a brujo.

“Okay, so how about we make a deal?”

Yadriel raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“It’s simple, alright? I gotta check up on my friends, make sure they’re okay and shit, and  _ then _ I’ll let you release my ass from wherever.” Julian’s standing straight, leaning forward like he still needs to adjust to the weight of his wings, even though they’re not there. 

Maritza jumps eagerly into the new conversation, “Sounds like a good deal - we can figure out the specifics tomorrow, right?” 

She looks pointedly at Yadriel, “After we go back home, so we don’t  _ worry _ everybody.” then, she whispers, “Miguel is  _ dead,  _ Lita’s going to be more strict than usual. Don’t mess around, man. Not right now.”

Yadriel bristles. He keeps his wings folded, like he’d trained himself to do. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He wasn’t planning on going back home yet. He felt -- too much. The portages felt like they were hot coals in his bag, probably because he was still pissed and annoyed in general. He wasn’t going to take it out on Maritza, though, she didn’t deserve that. 

She gave him a searching look, before nodding, and walking out of the doors. He heard his whisper, “Your Lita’s probably passed out with Telemundo on, don’t worry about getting caught,” before the accompanying stretching of her wings, as she half-glides and hops back to Tio Martin’s house. 

It calms him, slightly, because Maritza’s the only one whom he lets in, who knows enough about him to know when to back off or when to tear him a new one when he’s being stupid. (a rare occurrence, but it does happen.)

Then it’s just him in the old cemetery. He used to come here, before, for the quiet respite. He’s walking toward the door, planning on flying a lap above the cemetery hill, when he jumps at Julian’s voice. “So you’re onboard, then? Nice.”

Yadriel sighs, “Yeah, I’m onboard. Right afterward, though, I’m releasing you.”

“Whatever you say, patrón. Hey, wait wait wait,  _ where  _ are you going?”

Yadriel turns back, confused. “To search for - to, uh, to go home.”

The spirit raises an eyebrow. “Okay, one, I know you’re lying, you’re gonna go glide around a bit, whatever. What about me?”   


He blinks. “What  _ about  _ you?”

“What, you’re just gonna leave me here in a haunted church?”

“It’s not  _ haunted _ .”

“Dude, if I’m a ghost, and I’m in here, then it’s haunted!”

Yadriel doesn’t mean to snap. “ _ Dude _ , you can stay in the church for a night, nothing’s gonna happen to you, you’re already dead.” 

And then he’s said it, let the acid out, and it’s an asshole move, because the guy’s actually  _ dead,  _ and god, Yadriel wishes he was more like mamá than Enrique, less brittle and angry, but now he just slumps his shoulders and waits. For the spirit to discorporate or snap back -

But Julian’s just raised his eyebrows, looking patient and still. No wings, but his body is positioned like they’d be folded, an expression of calmness and reserve. It's not something Yadriel would normally expect.

Yadriel runs a hand through his hair, anger simmering down. “Jesus, sorry.” He takes a breath. “I just -”

“It’s fine, man. So, if you have the tether with you, I travel the same distance?”

Nothing bad would  _ actually _ happen if Yadriel moved Julian’s tether from the church. Besides, it’d probably look fishy, coming in here right before school tomorrow, so… it was probably the best solution to the positioning problem.

“Yeah. I guess… you can stay in my room?”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, sauntering over to the door, like he’s not tied to the St. Jude’s pendant on the altar. Yadriel’s memories of him from the school halls, gliding through the hallways, wings almost always open and making way for people to part around him, come to mind. They’re absentminded thoughts, memories that made up a series of snapshots summarising what he knew of Julian Diaz in his mind. 

He’d heard the whispers, too. Loudly, his ears snagging snippets about the boy for reasons he couldn’t justify,  _ he’s part of a gang,  _ and  _ i heard he smokes up after school  _ and  _ did you know where their dad was from?  _

He knows all too well what rumours and whispers do to a person, but Julian holds himself like nothing can touch him. He’s dead. He still looks fearless. 

Yadriel scoops up the pendant, carefully (it’s important, if it’s Julian’s tether,) and walks over to the spirit’s side, wings displacing a fraction of the air around them. 

“I’m - going to fly for a while. Here’s, uh, your pendant. I’ll pick it up once I’m done?”

Julian looks at him oddly, “You can just wear it.”

Yadriel looks back at him, slightly stunned. “I’ll be up in the air. Like, actually flying.”

He shrugs, “It’s fine.” He grins, which makes him glow, like he’s some sort of saint. “Not that this place is shabby, but, you know, a change of scenery would be nice.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Yadriel carefully puts the chain over his head and lets the pendant rest against his chest.

(It’s warm.)

He shakes his head, trying to organise his thoughts. Which is impossible, unless he’s in the air, looking down at the LA lights from their cemetery. He - doesn’t say anything, as he scales the wall of the old church. There’s still the memory of Enrique’s words, burning, his own anger simmering, and he  _ doesn’t  _ want to snap at Julian. 

Once he gets to the roof, Yadriel crouches down, a runner’s stance, almost, and takes the two steps to the edge before leaping.

Wings snapping open, the pop of metacarpals comforting and relieving. He raises them, and brings them down, pushing air away, riding the current he’s made. It’s strong enough to rise metres above the ground. 

Here, he can ignore the wideness and narrow sharpness of his wings. Here, they’re a means of escape, a strength, and the rush of wind through his hair, ruffling his downy feathers, as he dives above and around the cemetery hill, catching currents in the dark sky, it’s exhilarating. Freeing. 

The air is cold in his lungs, and the anger leaves his chest for the timebeing. Here, up in the air, nothing can touch him. The singing of the wind drowns out any whispers on the ground.

He lands metres away from the house, near the tombstones, ruffling the grass and flowers growing nearby. He stretches his wings one last time, before folding them behind his back, and stretching the kinks out of his neck. Julian flickers into existence next to him, stumbling a few steps, like he’d just landed as well.

The spirit looks over at him, eyes wide. “You… you really meant  _ fly,  _ huh?”

Yadriel nods absently, as he stretches his arms. Flying tends to stiffen the rest of your limbs, so he and Maritza have always stretched out after flying with their own routine. 

Once he’s done, awkwardly realising Julian’s been there the entire time, he looks to the guy. “Alright. Time to go back to the house.”

Julian tilts his head. “You don’t seem all that excited about it.”

Yadriel shrugs, beginning the walk up to the house. Julian jogs toward him, and Yadriel doesn’t  _ hear  _ his footsteps, but the pendant warms up whenever Julian comes closer, so it’s easy to figure out. 

“Keep a low profile - my family won’t approve of me bringing spirits into the house. Just run upstairs when I open the door, my room’s the last one on the left.”

Julian mutters ‘racist - ghostist?,’ but nods, and Yadriel swings the door, stepping inside. As Julian rushes in, he sees Lita, predictably, passed out with a confession scene playing on the TV in front of her, greying wings appropriately folded up, even in sleep.

Yadriel hears Diego on the phone with a girl a few rooms down. He’d usually be able to tell who it was, but he’s not keen on thinking about his family right now, so he quietly climbs up the stairs.

And then he’s looking up at Enrique.

His dad just happens to be heading down at the same moment. It’s a complete coincidence, Yadriel knows, because neither of them would seek each other out after a row. They both stop and stare, Yadriel taking in the large, tall wings casting a shadow against the orange candles from outside, silhouetted but still obviously white and tawny, like an owl’s. 

His father towers over him, with height and the added steps as leverage. Enrique eyebrows furrow, gaze darting about, like he’s going to say something. 

(During brujx gatherings, Enrique’s always got the right thing to say. Everybody loves him, the authority and humour from a man who’s meant to be in charge, but somehow that’s never extended to Yadriel.)

He knows this. It’s a distance that’s never come between Enrique and Diego, but Yadriel isn’t an idiot, and knows that he’s never going to be what his father wants. 

Another moment passes on the staircase, but Yadriel is tired. He pushes past Enrique, folding up his feathers so they don’t brush his father’s, and walks the hallway, pretending he doesn’t hear the long pause before Enrique’s footsteps continue down. 

  
  



	2. keep me warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “School first,” he repeats, despite Julian’s protests. 

Julian’s sitting in his desk chair when Yadriel walks in. “Oh good, you made it.”

Julian snorts, and spins around a few times, sending light gusts of cold air around the room. Yadriel’s exhausted, so he bundles up some old clothes and heads to the bathroom. Taking off his binder is both relieving and discomfiting, now that he’s sharing his room with Julian, and luckily, he doesn’t run into anyone on the way back to his room. Diego’s still on the phone, he figures, after listening, and his dad’s probably left the house by now, since there aren’t any sounds other than the TV downstairs. Restricting his hearing, he walks back inside, and immediately goes to the cupboard. “There’s a sleeping bag in here somewhere, give me a second.”

“Cool.” Julian spins. “Hey, where’s the rest of your family? There’s loads of empty houses around here, they’re all extra?”

“Nobody’s home because all the brujos are out looking for Miguel,” he says, clipped. “and the brujas are preparing for the worst outcome.”

“Huh. You’re a brujo, right? So why aren’t  _ you  _ out there, too?”

Yadriel is extremely aware of how his turtledove wings are visible, with his back to Julian. “Because they won’t let me.”

He spins on his chair, subconsciously making room for wings that aren't’ there anymore. “Why?”

Here it goes. “Because I’m trans.”

He’s expecting some rude staring, so Yadriel turns to face the spirit, folding his wings tight against his back and covering his torso with the old blue sleeping bag. 

“Oh.” Julian seems to make the connection. “Ohhhhhhh.”

“Yeah.” Yadriel crouches down at the floor, spreading the sleeping bag, distinctly not looking at Julian. The guy’s a spirit, he can’t touch the thing himself, and he tells himself it doesn’t matter what Julian says now because he does not care.

“Man,” he says, spinning to a stop, “That  _ sucks _ , dude.”

Yadriel’s thrown for a moment, the words so far from the pity or condescension he’d expected that they don’t register at first. Then he huffs a laugh, “I’m used to it.”

“So your cousin’s missing -”

“ - Dead -”

“- and they’re refusing your help because they don’t, what, think you can do it?”

“It’s stupid, but they’re not the most progressive people,” he says, the bitter edge familiar by now. “They wouldn’t even let me do the quinces ceremony - that’s when we make our connection to our god - and so I did it myself.”

“Huh,” Julian says. If Yadriel knew him, he’d say the guy _(spirit)_ sounded impressed, but he didn’t _actually_ know Julian Diaz, so. “Damn.”

Everything’s set up, so Yadriel surveys the floor one last time. “That’s about it,” he dusts off his hands, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Julian leaps from the chair to the mattress - almost  _ glides, _ somehow -  while Yadriel climbs onto the bed, folding his wings around his torso and wrapping the duvet around himself. It’s a cocoon of warmth and safety, and since he’s facing away from Julian, Yadriel’s left to his thoughts.

And the feeling in his gut, the aftertaste of death. Miguel was dead. His _cousin_. 

It’s not permanent - the brujx come and visit every year, and once they find Miguel’s spirit he’ll be back for Dia de los Muertos in a few days. But the feeling is never pleasant, a cold weight that made bones feel leaden. Made it harder to fly, and get wings off the ground.

Yadriel closes his eyes, pushing the thought away. Purrcaso’s in Diego’s room, or sleeping in the trash - she’s safe, with her half-blinded face and scraggly fur.

He wonders if ghosts can sleep. Julian’s spirit isn’t making any noise at all. Maybe he’s discorporated. The thought of Julian not being there is not something Yadriel wants to think about, but then the sensation of warmth at his chest - the pendant, which he hadn’t taken off - means that he’s still nearby.

It’s a relief. Yadriel doesn’t have time to think on  _ that  _ before he drifts off.

  
  
  


Yadriel don’t usually dream. There’d been restless nights, after mamá died, but no dreams. 

And so it’s obviously implausible that he’d think of how Julian Diaz used to look, in the school hallways. His wings, specifically - leaf green, zigzagging into bright yellow, like a unique take on the brazillian flag. He’s colombian, Yadriel knows, and the irony isn’t lost on anyone, but in the dream, it’s insignificant. Unimportant. 

Because Julian is carefree, and effervescent. He doesn’t fly - too tall, wings not made for it - but when he walks, it’s like... he’s weightless, untethered, almost a part of the wind, given how he seems to breeze through life like nothing can touch him.

  
  
  
  
  


Most mornings, Yadriel stretches out his wings in the bathroom. It’s uncomfortable if he does it anywhere else - because, when they’re at their full length, and he’s not in the air, it is  _ extremely  _ obvious that they’re femenine. Narrow, sharp, birdlike.

He’s got to be slightly thankful, though. The feathers aren’t explicitly dark or colourful - the natural browns that half of the brujx have aren’t differentiable unless it’s one of their own observing. And so it's just a tiny bit easier to pass.

A few feathers molt away that morning - specifically, the downy ones. Yadriel feels slight aches in his bones, which he thinks means that a growth spurt is coming on, and that hopefully he’ll be taller than his younger cousins soon. 

He folds his narrow wings back up once he’s changed, and preens the loose feathers away. The pendant still hangs from his neck, but tucked under the black hoodie, it’s completely hidden. 

Yadriel takes a minute to style his hair before heading back to his room. 

“School first,” he repeats, despite Julian’s protests. 

  
  
  


At school, it’s always a nightmare trying to avoid the  _ sounds.  _

The brujx have attuned hearing, and Yadriel will admit that the benefits of that gene outweigh the cons, particularly when your god-given duty is to release near-silent spirits from the realm of the living. 

But. It’s a  _ pain,  _ when surrounded by teenagers, who either talk about him when they think he’s out of range (which is never) or talk about gross stuff that Yadriel never wants to hear. 

For example, in fourth period english, when Sarah and Jaime are discussing (not) discreetly when they can have sex at her house. Or when Mrs. Reyes is on a phone call with her ex-husband and furiously whispering about their divorce. He won’t even _begin_ on the comments people make about him - about his wings, which are always folded tight in the hallways, or the fact that he lives in the L.A cemetery. Just general gossiping and trash-talking, which Yadriel wishes he could drown out with headphones, but won’t, because the whole ‘be-innocuous-so-they-don't-suspect-us' brujx rule.

He knows Maritza doesn't have it much better. But she mostly leaves her wings open, which helps balance out the hearing and heightened senses. It's like hiking in heels compared to boots, Maritza says, balancing your abilities the way they were meant to be used. She’d urged him, before, to do the same, but Yadriel had refused. 

It wasn’t worth the discomfort.

When Julian’s spirit is around that day, though, Yadriel is distracted for different reasons. Julian messes around near the blackboard, rubbing powdery letters away, sniggering, ‘ _ this is sick,’  _ which Yadriel focuses on. It's enough to ignore the other words and whispers.

When Julian pushes Sarah's textbook off her desk, he tries not to laugh. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a short chapter, I know, but school is busy and I really wanted to update this. and yes, the chapter count is now 7, because we're sticking to this story goddamnit
> 
> kudos and comment! definitely subscribe because the ANGST IS COMING SOON, MY FRIENDS.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I wrote this purely because I wanted to, and it is extremely self-indulgent, but I'm dragging you guys down with me. Since most of this is drafted, I want to apologise in advance for the plot coherence that I KNOW will hurt you all, but also, I am extremely smug about it and cannot wait until I've uploaded the final chapter. 
> 
> SUBSCRIBE! Comment! Kudos, if you want. Or, go read cemetery boys again, because it's adorable. 
> 
> Have a swawesome day, my fandom friends. 
> 
> \- EtuBrutus


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